


Once And Then Again

by LuxObscura



Series: The Shapes Trust May Take [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxObscura/pseuds/LuxObscura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper has historically bad taste in men -- they've tended to be either selfish or simply oblivious.  The unfortunate consequence of this situation is that Molly Hooper has never had an orgasm during sex with another person.  John and Greg, being both stand-up blokes and sex on legs decide to help her out with that particular situation.</p><p>(For <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21231.html?thread=125155055#t125155055">this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once And Then Again

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not have been possible without the inspiration, support and cheerleading of everyone at Antidiogenes.
> 
> Thanks, flowers and chocolates to my lovely betas stitchingatthecircuitboard and thehappyfangirl, without whom this piece would be much less. Any errors or awkwardnesses that remain are mine and mine alone.

Molly fidgets with her pint glass, turning it this way and that on the cork coaster.  She can feel a warm flush spreading across her cheeks and knows it’s more than just the alcohol.  John and Greg are taking turns looking down into their respective glasses and glancing up at her, each making a valiant effort not to stare and managing to look more conspicuous in the process.

“It’s not,” she tries, retreats into her glass, sets it down, tries again, “It _isn’t_.  I mean, I just.  Never have.  I _can_ , I mean,” she amends hastily.  “ _Loads_ of times.  By myself.  I just.  With someone else—“  Molly aborts her attempt at a complete sentence, drains the last of her pint and hides her face in her crossed arms.  The tips of her ears and her cheeks feel like they’re on fire.  In fact, she feels too warm all over and _god_ when will she learn to drink less or shut up?  Or (hopefully) both.

Any moment now the mortification is going to kill her, she’s certain.  Anything would be better than this embarrassment churning in her gut and burning up her skin.  She peeks out over her arms, half hoping that John and Greg have left her here to die in peace.

They have not.

Greg and John are looking at each other.  Molly feels a twist of uncertainty high in her throat.  John has one eyebrow raised and Greg is meeting his gaze with one corner of his mouth turned up.  Molly’s eye focus on the tiny movements happening across the table.  The trace of Greg’s finger around the rim of his pint glass, the slide of John’s thumb through the condensation — up, down, around and around.  Molly realises she’s staring.  Ten seconds later she realises they’re staring back at her.  Molly is about to bury her head back in her arms and lament the awkward death of a good friendship when John breaks the silence.

“Would you like,” his tongue peeks out to moisten his lips.  Greg’s eyes flick from Molly to John.  Molly’s heart is suddenly pounding for a reason that’s totally unrelated to extreme embarrassment.  Her fingers twitch nervously and her eyes slide sideways.  Greg tries to recover, leaning forward and putting a gentle hand on her wrist.

“Christ, sorry Molly.  That was— one too many pints, you know?  Just forget the last five minutes, all right?  No harm.”  John’s giving Greg a look out of the corner of his eye that Molly can’t quite read, but she doesn’t need to read it to know…  Know what?  Know that there’s a really fantastic opportunity here that’s ten seconds from getting away from her.  A lifetime of awkward snogging, fumbled groping in the dark and laying awake disappointed and dissatisfied while one clumsy, selfish lover after another snored himself to sleep flashes through her mind.  She puts her hands firmly on the table, palms down.  

“What I would like,” she looks evenly from John to Greg and gets a little thrill when she realises they are both absolutely fixated on her, “is to discuss this in a place that is not full of people and thirty bloody degrees inside.”

John and Greg look at each other and _when_ did they both get so bloody good at communicating without words?  

“Come back to mine, both of you,” says John.  “Sherlock’s out tearing around Sussex.  Not due back for another day at least.”

Molly smiles and feels a warmth in her chest.  “I’d love to John.”

Greg looks between the two of them and smiles, only it’s not quite a smile.  One corner of his mouth turns up and he looks like someone just handed him a key piece of evidence.  “I’m in.”

Outside the pub the cold winter air is a relief.  While she’s no longer overheated she can still feel her heart pounding in her chest, her ears, her fingers…  Christ, she’s walking back to Baker Street with Greg and John and hanging between the three of them is some kind of unspoken … something that has to do with them wanting to give Molly orgasms.  _Christ Molly, what are you thinking?_ ** _Are_** _you even thinking?  These are your friends and you’re just going to go back to John’s flat and get your kit off and… and…_ Before she can finish her thought she feels a warm, blessedly steady hand on her back.  She looks to her right and sees John Watson smiling at her.  Not a predatory smile, not a leer, just an honest, open smile that compels her to smile back.  John does a little flick of his eyebrows and Molly turns to look over at Greg on her left.  He has his hands shoved in his pockets and is watching the ground as he walks.  Molly links her left arm through his right and he looks up, startled.  She gives him a smile that’s part John’s warmth and part her own shy earnestness and is rewarded with a thousand-watt smile from Greg.

They finish the walk back to Baker Street in companionable silence that is not as awkward as Molly feared it would be.

*****

John takes their coats and then they all stand around awkwardly, which is no more or less than Molly feared or thought.  Molly twists her fingers together while Greg looks over her shoulder at the damask wallpaper.  John looks back and forth between them for a few seconds before ducking into the kitchen and returning a moment later with three bottles of beer, which he distributes before settling onto the couch.  Molly and Greg follow his lead, each perching on the cushions on either side of John.

John breaks the silence.  “I just want you to know, Molly — and you too, Greg — that just because you’re here doesn’t mean anything has to happen.  We can have some drinks and all go our separate ways and no one’s going to think any less of anyone at the end.”

Greg nods and Molly smiles.  

“It’s just…  What I wanted to say at the pub…”  Molly pauses to fortify herself with another swallow of lager.  “It was so awful, you know?  Always thinking it was _me_ , because wasn’t it always me that was the one constant in all of it?  I even went to a doctor to find out if…  well, you know.”  She ducks her head and giggles, the absurdity of the situation, of her history finally catching up to her and squeezing tight in her chest.  “I guess it’s enough to say that nothing came of that.  I just have _awful_ taste in men.  Er.  Present company excepted, of course.”  She grins and feels that flush starting again, creeping from her chest, up her neck and into her cheeks.  “I just never thought… you two…  I mean, it’s all a bit mad, isn’t it?”  And she looks from John to Greg and feels the squeezing in her chest turning into the first stages of panic.  _Easy, Mols_.  _It’s just a little awkward conversation.  No stranger, those._  

She’s a little surprised — pleasantly so, though — when Greg leans forward, puts his bottle on the floor and says, “Molly Hooper, I would really, _really_ like to kiss you right now.”

Molly goes positively red, turns her face away, and then turns back to meet Greg’s eyes.  They’re liquid warm and earnest.  “Yeah.  I.  Yeah, all right.”  She leans forward across John’s lap, not sure what to expect when Greg’s lips brush lightly against hers.  It’s only a light touch at first as he tries to get a feel for the shape of her mouth.  After a few brief brushes he presses into her more firmly.  His lips are warm and soft and they cover her mouth without trying to claim it.  She slips her tongue out to taste him and— _Oh._   John’s hand tangles in her hair, fingertips rubbing gently at her scalp.  Greg tastes like beer and faintly of cigarettes and like _more_.  Their kiss becomes more intense, each of them taking little tastes of the other.  Molly lets out a string of little whimpers as something Greg does with his tongue sends her pulse straight to her clit, From above, John chuckles.

“God, you two don’t even know how gorgeous you both are, do you?”  John’s voice is breathy but still fond.  Greg’s letting out these little huffs of breath through his nose every time Molly dips into his mouth with her tongue and oh _god_ it’s suddenly damnably hot in here, too.  

Greg breaks the kiss but not without first cupping Molly’s cheek and sliding his fingers down the line of her throat, stopping just where the button of her blouse holds the fabric closed over the swell of her breasts.  When he pulls back his eyes are bright and his color is high.  

“God Mol, I want to taste the rest of you, too.”  Molly smiles and bites her lower lip, which feels pleasantly swollen from the work of Greg’s mouth.  

John’s hand is still tangled in her hair, and when Molly turns to look at him he looks just as warm and companionable as ever.  But there’s something in his eyes…  Molly doesn’t get a chance to try and finish that thought because then John’s lips are on hers.  It’s not a violent kiss, nor a plundering one.  John’s not trying to taste her tonsils or anything so gauche (though god knows she’s had boyfriends try _that_ trick too).  Even so, Molly feels like John is kissing her in all the places everyone else has ever missed, paying due attention to the corners of her mouth, the tiny dip in her upper lip, using his tongue to lick into her.  She sighs and would swear that John even steals the breath as it comes out of her.

She feels Greg’s hand on her lower back, rubbing small circles there before dipping lower over the rise of her arse, cupping it gently.  Greg’s face is hovering a few inches away from where John is quietly, steadily claiming her mouth.  Molly’s always been more of a ‘lights off’ sort of woman, but somehow having Greg this close, watching…  It’s good.  It’s very good.  Molly isn’t even fussed that she can’t say exactly why.  

When John finally releases her lips, Molly leans her forehead against his.  She rests a hand on Greg’s thigh for contact as much as balance and tries to put her thoughts into some kind of order.  Her blood is rushing in her ears and now she can feel her pulse everywhere, especially between her thighs.  She shifts a little on the couch and feels wet and tingly and…  Oh, John’s saying something.  Molly tries to focus.

“Earth to Mol?”  He smiles and the skin around his eyes crinkles.  “I was asking if you wanted to finish your lager?”

Molly straightens and attempts to put on a semi-serious face.  “John Three-Continents Watson, if you think you can kiss me like that and then ask if I want to _drink_ , then I have no idea how you ever earned that nickname.”  John chuckles.  “And as for _you_ , Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade,” Molly squeezes his thigh for emphasis, “if you want to find out what the rest of me tastes like I won’t have you spoiling it with the taste of lager.”  Lestrade looks at her with in mild shock.  Perhaps he never imagined Molly Hooper quite like this.  _Molly_ isn’t sure she’s ever imagined herself like this, but when she sees the response she’s getting from Greg and John she feels a thrill of power.  She’s never dared to speak to any of her past boyfriends like this — never dared to ask for what she wants.  But John and Greg aren’t her boyfriends.  They’re her _friends_ , and tonight all they seem to care about is what _she_ wants.  For just once in her miserable sex life, Molly is going to see what’s on offer and ask for exactly what she wants.  

“Well, that’s us told, wouldn’t you say, Greg?”

“Cor,” Greg agrees.

Molly smiles.  “John, could I trouble you for the use of your bed?”

John responds by boosting Molly to her feet and pinching her arse through the fabric of her skirt.  Molly turns to swat playfully at him but before she can bring her hand to bear she’s brought up short by the sight of John, his fist caught up in Greg’s shirt, treating him to the same thoroughly devastating kiss he’d used on Molly just a few moments ago.

“Oh. That’s…  Oh.”  John chuckles into Greg’s mouth and pulls back to look at Molly, who is trying not to rub at herself through her skirt.  “John…  Greg…  I didn’t realise you two…  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  Or that it’s any of my business.  I just didn’t.  That is…”  Molly’s earlier flush of confidence has utterly fled and she feels awkward and wrong-footed all over again.  

John puts an arm around her waist and pulls her close.  “We don’t.  Often.  His highness,” John indicates down the hall towards Sherlock’s closed door, “makes it difficult to carry on with anyone.  I don’t think anyone knows except Sherlock and that’s because no one can keep anything from him.”

A wonderful thought creeps into Molly’s head and she debates even mentioning it but Greg is slyly edging one hand under her skirt and is working on slipping his fingers into the elastic of her knickers and if she’s all right letting a bloke do that while his sometime-sex partner looks on, well, Molly feels she’s entitled to a few personal favors.

“I want to watch you two,” she blurts without preamble.

Greg’s fingers stutter in their quest to invade her knickers and John’s fingers tighten reflexively on her hip.  John and Greg share a look and _Oh,_ ** _that’s_** _how they learned to talk without words_.

“We want this to be about you, Mol.”  Greg says as he gets the elastic out of his way and rubs two fingers gently against her outer lips.  

“I didn’t say it was the _o-only_ thing I wanted.”  And that’s probably the last sentence Molly is going to be able to get out for a while because Greg’s fingers have spread her open and she’s absolutely dripping and _oh god_ , she’s going a bit weak in the knees.  None of her previous lovers ever did this to her as any more than a rough preamble to shoving a cock in her but Greg looks like he’d be content just to finger her all night and _christ_ how is she still upright?

John comes to her rescue, standing up and giving her something solid to lean against.  “Greg, if you break her before we even start I will tell Sherlock that you’ve given me your office key.  I think you can imagine what _that_ will lead to.”  John gives Greg a stern look and while Greg does remove his fingers — Molly shudders and remembers to breathe again — he gives John a look that even Molly can interpret as a challenge.  

Greg stands and John pulls him down for one more quick kiss.  Molly’s world finally rights itself — enough that she thinks she can make her legs work, anyway — and John points her up the stairs, sending her first with a swat on the arse.

Molly takes off up the stairs, followed closely by John and Greg, who are shouldering each other out of the way trying to get in shots on her retreating bottom.  The exhilaration is back, buoyed up by the memory of Greg’s fingers, John’s lips and the rush that comes from imagining mouths and fingers and skin on skin.  Molly giggles as Greg gets in a pinch on her bottom just as she hits the upstairs hall.

“On your right,” says John and Molly throws open the door to his room.

*****

John’s room is more spacious than Molly had imagined.  It’s neat, much like the man who inhabits it but it isn’t without personality.  There’s a large bed with a nice duvet, bracketed on either side by a night table, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and even a chair and a lamp by the window.  There are a few framed snapshots on the chest of drawers, a stack of medical journals by the chair and a few worn paperbacks stacked on the night table.  Molly takes all this in as she crosses to the bed and flops down on her back in the middle of it, arms stretched above her head.  With her feet off the floor her flats dangle precariously off her toes for a second before dropping to the floor.  She wiggles her hips a little and sinks into the duvet.  John and Greg stand a little way back, staring at her until she starts to feel a little self-conscious, so she props herself up on her elbows.  

“Er?”

“It’s just, I never thought — that is _we_ never thought we’d have you here like this,” Greg offers as he approaches the bed.  

Molly looks at him, head cocked a bit to one side.  “All you ever had to do was ask, you big git.”  She considers for a second.  “And maybe get me just a little drunk.”  At that Greg grins and presses her back into the duvet so he can kiss her some more.  He slides up on his side, pressing the length of his body against hers.  One of his hands goes to work untucking her blouse so he can slide a hand up and against the soft swell of her stomach.  His hand feels rough and warm against her soft skin.  One of her hands drifts down from above her head to grip his short silver hair and she scratches her nails lightly against his scalp.  Kissing Greg, she thinks, is like drinking honeyed whiskey in slow, measured sips — sweet on the lips and leaving a burning trail of fire all the way into her stomach.  

The bed dips a little as John lays down on her other side and runs a hand up the inside of her thigh, following the trail Greg had blazed earlier.  John’s fingers slide under the elastic at the inside of her thigh and he rubs her gently, working her lips open and dipping into her wetness until he slides one finger inside her.  Molly gasps and then moans against Greg’s mouth.  She rolls her hips just a little, trying to get John’s finger a little deeper.  He obliges by slipping a second finger in her, crooking them and beginning to work slowly in and out of her.

Greg meanwhile has worked his hand up underneath her bra and is cupping her breast, deft fingers pinching and rolling her nipple.  Being the center of attention is something new for Molly.  Having two gorgeous men working her over, working her _up_ , with no real goal other than her pleasure is enough to send a shudder through her.  

Finally she pulls away from Greg’s mouth long enough to pant, “Clothes.  Off.  I want to see you both.”  The loss of Greg’s warm hand on her breast and John’s clever fingers inside her leaves her feeling empty and aching.  _Patience,_ she reminds herself.  _Patience, Mol._

The mattress shifts again and she feels John and Greg moving and standing.  She gets her elbows under her again and looks from one to the other.  “What…?”

“You said you wanted to watch,” John says and smiles at her.  It’s a sly, sideways smile that holds much more than mirth.  “So watch.”  John gets a hold of Greg’s shirt and pulls him forward into a kiss.  That seems to be Greg’s cue to start working on the buttons of John’s shirt, flicking them open from top to bottom.  He pulls the tails of John’s shirt free from his trousers and pushes it down and off of John’s shoulders.  John shrugs the shirt the rest of the way off and goes to work on getting Greg out of his.  Molly watches them from the bed, mouth open, breathing harder than she should for someone who isn’t doing any work.  But she’s watching Greg and John absolutely devour each other at the lips while they simultaneously perform an efficient (yet _very_ effective) strip tease.  When they finally pull apart, both are flushed and panting and almost entirely naked.  John takes the opportunity of no longer being joined at the lips to pull Greg’s vest off.  Molly notices that Greg doesn’t remove John’s.  

 _Oh, his scar…_ she thinks, but that thought doesn’t make it any farther.  Both men have stepped out of their puddled trousers and pants and are advancing on her.  She can’t _not_ notice that both of their pricks are half hard and she really wants to help them the rest of the way but that’s before John and Greg fall on her — John pulling her skirt and knickers off in one go while Greg works open her blouse and divests her of her bra in smooth, efficient motions that bear no resemblance to the awkward fumblings of past lovers.  

“You’ve done this before,” she says before she can stop herself and _of course they have, Molly Hooper you great idiot_ , but Greg only smiles before leaning in to lavish attention on her breasts, pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking.  

“Oi, budge up so I can get on the bed before you get all distracted.”  John’s hands are resting on Molly’s thighs and he has a devious look about him.  Molly isn’t a betting woman but she’s reasonably certain that John wants a taste of her and doesn’t want to be relegated to the floor to do it.  The three of them shift around so that Molly is laying with her head on the pillows at the top of the bed with Greg curled in beside her.  John positions himself flat between her legs with the backs of her knees over his shoulders and begins laying warm, open-mouthed kisses on the insides of her thighs.  His breath is hot and wet against her skin and she feels her legs falling open to give him more room.  He kisses his way up to her navel before slowly working his way down, over her mound and … _oh._   John spreads her open with quick, devastating precision and works his tongue inside her, teasing sensitive flesh with alternating warmth and pressure.  She feels like her pelvis is going to crack in half as she tries to open herself wider for him, encourage him deeper.  Instead, John pulls back a bit to lavish attention on her clit, giving it a few teasing licks before latching on and sucking with a relentlessly even rhythm.  

Molly isn’t even aware she’s been whimpering and moaning until Greg silences her with a kiss, his hands taking over where his mouth had been a moment ago.  Something is building inside her, low and hot and it feels familiar but it _isn’t_ , _it isn’t_ , it’s never been like this with mouths and skin and hot flesh and sweat and… and… and…  

The sensation sneaks up on her and before she really even knows that she’s almost there her toes curl and her hips buck and _oh, oh, oh…_   She must be making noise but Greg’s kissing the breath out of her and her vision is all dotty around the edges.  Her hips are grinding rhythmically against John’s face as she rides each crest until finally, _finally_ , the sensation fades to a few faint muscle twitches and Greg finally releases her mouth.

“Oh god.  How.  Is that…  I mean.  Oh god.”

From somewhere between her legs, John chuckles, low and throaty.  Molly quashes an impulse to cross her legs in some sort of reflexive show of modesty — a move that would probably squash John’s head in the process.  Instead she reaches down and catches hold of him.  “Up.  Up here you.  Come on.”  John wiggles up next to her and Molly kisses him, tasting herself on John’s skin.  

“Didn’t I say I wanted to taste all of you?”  Greg’s voice is low and heated from her other side.  Greg leans up and over her, insinuating himself into her kiss, stealing tastes of John’s lips and Molly’s wetness on his skin.  Then Greg is gone again, and Molly feels rough stubble against her skin as he kisses his way down her body, heading for the place at the foot of the bed recently vacated by John.

“Oh god, Greg, I don’t know if I can again, it’s so…  it’s too…”  Molly feels hot all over, her skin sensitised and tingling.  She’s never been the best with words and now that her brain is swimming in hormones and sensation she’s not sure what she wants, what she can even do.

Greg stops just short of the curly fuzz that covers her mound, says, “If it’s too much just tell me and I’ll stop,” waits until Molly bites her lip and nods, and then resumes kissing his way down, and then into her again.  

Greg’s approach is different than John’s  If John’s method was a strategic attack on all her most vulnerable points, Greg is more of a slow, lazy explorer, using the wide flat of his tongue to lick along her length.  She drifts hazily on a tide of sensation, pleasant but not intense, almost soporific.  Her toes curl and uncurl in a not-rhythm as Greg soothes her oversensitive nerve endings and … well, worships her, slowly and thoroughly.  

Molly’s thoughts gradually reorder themselves and when she finally feels some semblance of control she opens her eyes to look at John.  He’s running his fingers through her hair and watching her intently — not, she notes with relief, with the intensity that Sherlock might but instead with an open expression that might even be considered adoring or at the very least, fond.

“All right?”  He asks, smiling at her.

“Better than,”  Molly smiles back.  A desire is starting to build in the pit of her stomach, between Greg’s tender but persistent ministrations and John’s gaze and gentle touch.  “Kneel up,” she says and feels her smile go a bit mischievous.  John sees it too and meets her look with an equal one of his own.

“Oh?”

“I want you.  To taste.”  Molly scrunches up her face and blushes a little.  Her bedroom experiences have never included much talking and she’s suddenly embarrassed that she doesn’t have the words to ask for what she wants.  John though, bless him, kisses her forehead with lips that are as hot as her own skin and does as she asked.

John’s prick is … well, Molly guesses that it’s average.  Her basis for comparison isn’t that large, but she finds that it scarcely matters.  She’s doing this for John, because it’s something she wants to do.  She leans up and twists a bit, taking the tip of John’s prick into her mouth.  He tastes warm and clean with just a hint of salt.  It doesn’t take much work, using her tongue around the foreskin and her free hand to work along the shaft before she feels the head of his cock poke out of his foreskin.  She runs her tongue around the head and hears John moan in appreciation.  She looks up at him — he has one hand gripped on the headboard of the bed, his head thrown back, rocking his hips just slightly back and forth.  Molly flicks her eyes down and sees Greg watching them both.  Molly winks playfully and feels Greg redouble his efforts.  There’s a liquid rush of warmth from her chest to down between her legs, and Molly uses that to bolster her courage and her desire, swallowing around as much of John’s length as she can.  She tastes a bitter salt taste on the back of her tongue and pulls back until just the tip rests between her lips, giving John a few firm strokes.  She prods his slit with her tongue and closes her eyes at the bone-melting groan from above.  John’s hips tremble a little as he tries to hold back from thrusting into her mouth.  Molly takes a deep breath in through her nose and prepares to swallow John again.  As he slides deep into the back of her throat she feels Greg plunge two fingers deep inside her while his mouth latches onto her clit and sucks.  

Molly isn’t sure of the noise she makes but the vibrations of it along John’s cock cause him to whimper.  Greg works his fingers in and out of her, crooking them inside every few strokes, touching Molly in a way that makes her unsure whether she’s about to explode or melt.  She pulls off of John’s prick with a wet pop and she can almost hear his eyes roll back in his head.  “Oh god.  If one of you doesn’t fuck me right now—“  

 _Molly Hooper, your mouth!_ says a part of her brain.  

 _Has just been enthusiastically sucking John Watson’s prick, thank you,_ retorts another part.  

Suddenly she’s being pressed down into the bed and her internal critic falls mercifully quiet.  John’s rummaging in a bedside drawer and Greg is kissing his way back up her body, two of his fingers still working inside her.  He mouths at her shoulder, kissing his way up to the tender skin of her neck before latching on with teeth and lips, sucking a mark just at the junction of her neck and shoulder.  Molly’s eyes flutter closed and she gasps and then lets out a long, low moan.  She can hear John moving, feels him shift over both of them to get behind Greg, but she doesn’t start to fit it all together until she hears the snap of a plastic lid and hears Greg groan, low and needy.  Molly opens her eyes and sees that Greg is still on his side next to her but now John is behind him.  Greg’s rolling his hips back against something.  John catches Molly’s eyes over Greg’s shoulder.  John is flushed and he looks hungry.  Greg’s eyes are squeezed closed and he’s muttering something.

“Tell me, love,” John growls.  “Tell me what you want.”

“Don’t…  Just fuck me.  I want it rough.  I want you to fuck me while I fuck Molly.  Want her to feel…”  John does something wicked — judging by the look Molly sees in his eyes — and Greg loses his words.  John licks his lips and grins.  

“That’s three fingers, now.  Think you’re ready?”

Greg nods, and John looks at Molly.  “Is this what you want, Molly?  You get to watch both of us and still feel—“

“Oh god yes!”  Molly is surprised at the strength of her own reaction.  John’s free hand appears from behind Greg’s body holding a square foil packet.  

“You’ll probably have to do this for him.  I don’t think he’s in any fit state,” says John with a wink.  Molly gets the condom open and rolls it onto Greg’s cock.  His eyes fly open at the sensation of Molly’s hands on him.

“On… on your side,” he pants.  Molly obliges and wiggles over, hitching one leg up over Greg’s hip.  John must’ve paused for a second because Greg is able to concentrate long enough to press the tip of his prick against her and then his length slips inside, stretching and filling her deliciously.  Molly moans, grinds her hips against Greg and buries her head in his chest.  She hears the tearing of another packet and Greg goes very still.  Then he buries his face in her hair and trembles.

“Easy now,” says John and Molly doesn’t know if he’s trying to soothe her or Greg or perhaps both.  She feels a hand drift across to her hip.  It takes a moment to get all their legs in the right places but they manage it in short order.  She can feel every little movement John makes telegraphed through Greg’s body.  The sensation of being fucked by John but with Greg’s cock is enough to drive any errant blood still in her brain right down between her legs.  _That’s perfect.  Fucking amazingly perfect._

John is panting heavily and Molly imagines his short hair bristled with sweat.  “I’m going to move now.”  Molly wraps an arm around both of them as one of Greg’s hands presses firmly into the middle of her back and John gets a firm grip on Greg’s hip, fingers just brushing Molly’s skin.

Molly feels John draw back, pause and then push forward into Greg.  The motion drives Greg’s cock into her, rubbing against her walls and making her grind down, pushing back.  “Oh god Mol, I feel it when you push back like that.”  John sounds breathless and half way to wrecked.  

“Mol, John…  Please, fuck…  Just _move_.”  Greg finds his voice long enough to make a demand, though to be fair it’s a demand they’re all desperate to meet.  

John sets a pace that’s almost punishing from the start.  Every time John slams into Greg’s arse, his prick drives into Molly.  She pushes down against Greg, seeking more contact, grinding her clit against him.  It’s while Greg is fucking Molly and being fucked by John that she learns Greg has an absolutely filthy sex mouth.  He’s running an unrelenting string of, “Fuck yes, fuck, beautiful, fuck me, feel me, fucking—“ until finally Molly stops his mouth with a searing kiss, invading him with her tongue and stealing his words.  For her part, Molly is panting and whining, squirming against Greg, clutching John’s back, dragging her nails across his skin and getting rewarded with a tight, high moan for her trouble.  

John grunts and Molly hears skin hitting skin, each thrust stabbing up into her.  Finally Greg pants, “Can’t last, sorry, too good… too…” and then his eyes squeeze shut, and Molly feels his prick go impossibly harder inside her.  She reaches a hand into the wet, hot space  between their bodies and rubs herself once, twice, three times and then she’s coming too, fingers brushing the base of Greg’s cock, feeling that pulsing inside her, against her.  Her world goes dark around the edges and then white and there’s a high-pitched ringing in her ears.  She buries her face in the curve of Greg’s neck and bites down, shaking and panting.  Somewhere far away she hears John shout, feels him go stiff and rigid against Greg’s back and then go boneless.

Everything tingles.  Her breath is coming in harsh pants and sweat is running down her face and between her thighs.  It takes a few minutes for any sensation to break through her buzzing nerves but when it finally does it’s the sensation of a cramp forming in her hip from where her leg is hitched up over Greg’s.  

“Have… have to move,” she warns before disentangling her leg and rolling over onto her back.  The motion dislodges Greg’s cock and he whimpers a little at the sensation of cold air against him.  Somewhere behind Greg John’s moving too.  He pulls Greg over to lay supine so John can remove and dispose of the condom.  

“I think,” Greg says at length, “that my brain melted.”

John chuckles and plants a kiss on his cheek.  “I think it went better than I could have planned.”

Molly bristles, or would if she had anything resembling fine motor control.  “You.. You planned this!” she gasps.

John reaches across Greg and rubs her stomach with his warm hand.

“I think planned is too concrete of a word,” huffs John. 

“Fantasized about… yes.  Yes we did.  Quite a lot, actually,” Greg amends, then flinches as John flicks his nipple.  They’re both too tired to get into any sort of retaliatory fight, however.  

“So…,” Greg ventures at length.  “How was it?  With… other people?”

“Mmm.  Not sure.”

“You’re… not sure?” echoes John and Molly smiles when he sounds utterly surprised.

“Nope.  Not sure.  Have to try it again before I can form a … you know.  Definitive opinion.”  Molly giggles, then sighs as John and Greg drape their arms across her.  Greg does something with his toes and manages to pull the extra blanket from the foot of the bed up and over them without dislodging anyone.  

That’s how they fall asleep, and that’s exactly the position Sherlock sees them in five hours later when he cracks the door open to confirm his suspicions.  One corner of his mouth curves into a smile that says both “interesting” and “trouble”.  He closes the door and creeps back downstairs as quietly as he came, eschewing the violin in favor of retiring to his room to think.  And plan. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there is a sequel. Yes, I've already begun it. XD
> 
> I really can't thank everyone enough. This is the first finished piece I've produced in *muttercough* years, and it absolutely would not have happened without all the support from my friends and fellow Antidioge-peeps. You all inspired me, helped me brainstorm and cheered me on when I just wanted to crawl into the couch and hide from Writing-with-a-capital-W. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you.


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